


One Hundred, and One

by starsqwub



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-06 23:40:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20515409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsqwub/pseuds/starsqwub
Summary: Poe Dameron has probably proposed to Finn at least one hundred times.And though it might sound silly,Finn pretends Poe really means it. Every. Single. Time.





	One Hundred, and One

**Author's Note:**

> PROPOSAL FIC! (one that I got very carried away with, but only because it's so easy to get carried away with these two. <3) Hope you enjoy! <3

Poe Dameron has probably proposed to Finn at least one hundred times.

And though it might sound silly, 

Finn pretends Poe really _means_ it. Every. Single. Time. 

—

_Proposal #1_

“If you were… a _droid_,” Finn had asked, wiping sweat from his brow, “would you be… a BeeBee unit?”

Finn was helping Poe with some maintenance on Black One in a rare stretch of downtime on D’Qar. The hangar was almost starting to feel like home, in a way; with his back injury keeping him from the field, Finn made himself useful at the base and slowly eased into the idea of “making friends”. (It was strange at first—he already had Poe, Rey, and BeeBee. How could his heart have room to love more? To hold more than them, and all his hurt?) 

_(Note: It really could hold much, much more.) _

Poe’s laugh rang out from underneath Black One. He rolled back along his dolly to eye Finn perched on the S-foil above. “I’m not sure I’d make the best BeeBee.”

_“POE would be a PROTOCOL DROID,”_ BeeBee-Ate chirped gleefully from his astromech socket. _“He loves to TALK, TALK, TALK.” _

“Wow buddy,” Poe replied, playfully wounded, “VERY rude.” And at Finn’s hearty laugh: “I thought you couldn’t understand binary.”

Finn bit his lip to keep his shameless grin at bay. “I’m a fast learner.” 

Poe shook his head, suppressing a secret smile of his own. “That you are. Well,” he rolled back under his X-wing’s belly and called out, “I wouldn’t be THAT either. I’d be Black One. Obviously.” 

Finn looked up from his tinkering, brow raised. “X-wings aren’t droids, Poe.” 

“I know! But—_gah_.” Poe rolled back out again, forehead freshly smeared with grease. “I’m just saying, that’s what I’d be, if I weren’t me. I’d be flying. It’s the one thing I’m meant to do. So—“ he let out a satisfied huff—“Black One.”

Finn didn’t bother hiding his grin this time around. “Can’t argue with that.” 

“What about you,” Poe asked, resting his head back in his clasped hands. His curls fanned about his face like black petals. 

Finn thought hard for a moment; then, “Okay. If you’re gonna be Black One,” he said, gesturing with his wrench at Poe, “then I’m definitely a BeeBee,” he finished, with the wrench pointed to himself. 

Poe’s eyes widened a bit. “Why’s that.” 

“I’d wanna help you,” Finn answered, continuing with his tinkering along the S-foil. “Be your co-pilot. Keep you out of trouble.” He flashed a cheeky smile to Poe. “And it’d be pretty fun to roll around like BeeBee-Ate does, don’t you think.” 

Poe’s eyes were spellbound, mouth slightly agape. 

_(Finn remembers this moment well, down to the cool breeze blowing through the hangar, the lightness in his chest, and Poe’s hair furled out like petals.)_

“Marry me,” Poe said. His eyes sparkled. 

Finn shook his head, like the question gave him whiplash. “What?” he scoffed, still wearing an uncertain smile. 

“Marry me,” Poe said again, though something in his expression had changed—there was a new ease to it, that familiar charm and breeziness Poe carried so well, and for some unthinkable reason, it disappointed Finn. “I mean, it just makes sense, right? You’re stuck with me, Finn. Like you said,” he let out a hazy sigh: “I’m trouble. Keep me out of it.” 

BeeBee whirred his head to Finn and gave a light whistle. _“Too much trouble, FINN. Take it from his CO-PILOT."_

“Yeah?” Finn said, his voice airy. He laughed to himself. Calling out to the pilot below: “Maybe BeeBee could use the help—“

But Poe couldn’t hear him, apparently; he was lost in his work under the X-wing’s hull, which was for the better, Finn thought.  
  
He probably couldn’t hear Finn’s heart pounding… not from all the way down there.

—

_Proposal #5, not long after._

Poe always calls first when he’s away on his missions.

Finn watched the pre-recorded holovid from his sleeping quarters, mouth full of a chewy protein bar. 

“Nothing new to report,” Poe said. He was piloting Black One with his helmet on during the recording, but his dark eyes pierced through the holovid’s blue, scratchy image. Finn smiled at them. “We’re headin’ home early. False lead from that Senator. But hoo boy, FINN,“ Poe let out a long whistle—“You would LOVE Naboo. Right BeeBee? Wouldn’t Finn love it there?” 

BeeBee’s voice warbled out from behind Poe. _“AFFIRMATIVE, FINN. NABOO is WONDERFUL.”_

Finn laughed, taking another bite of his protein bar. The recording continued:

“BeeBee never lies, Finn,” Poe said with a knowing eyebrow waggle. “Add it to our list of places to visit.”

“Naboo, got it,” Finn murmured to himself, grinning softly.

“Hey, idea. Whaddya think of this: DESTINATION WEDDING. Run away with me!” Poe declared, expression drawn flamboyantly.

_“And ME,”_ BeeBee peeped, with something Finn could almost swear was sarcasm. 

“BeeBee, I’m kind of in the middle of something.” 

_“And I’m keeping us in FLIGHT."_

Poe and Finn erupted with laughter at the same time. Finn let his laugh taper off just to keep listening to Poe’s; the sound of it filled up the room like a flower blooming. 

“Alright, alright. I should give my other co-pilot a helping hand,” Poe said with a short sigh. His eyes were so earnest, as if Poe were watching Finn through the holovid at that very moment. (Finn brushed a few crumbs off his lips with his sleeve, just in case.) “Miss you buddy.”

“Miss you, Poe,” Finn mumbled.

“And hey—“ Poe’s toothy smile glinted in the holovid, bright and blue in Finn’s dark room. “Offer still stands. Naboo’s beautiful this time of year.” 

And Finn laughed again, because that’s what normal people do: they laugh at jokes. 

—

_Proposal #21, or was it 22..._ honestly, this is where they all start to blend together.

Yes, Finn’s a fast learner—and he’d learned a lot about Poe since joining the Resistance. The pilot possessed a certain degree of... predictability. For example, he was predictably…

_Impulsive_, to the General’s dismay. (But when Poe grabbed Finn’s hand once on a walk about the lake and twirled him in a circle underneath D’Qar’s double moons, it just made Finn smile.)

_Honest_, to a fault—Poe says what he thinks the second it shoots across his mind, and it often gets him into serious trouble. (But when Finn told Poe, “I’ve never danced before,” and Poe said, “I can tell—I mean! What? You’re a natural! No, really!”, it just made Finn laugh and laugh.) 

And maybe above all else, Poe Dameron was predictably… baffling. Totally _incomprehensible_—like a giant, frisky question mark that liked to float over Finn’s head. (Poe dipped Finn back gently; Finn wondered if he was the one who looked like a flower now. Probably not—Finn wasn’t made from the same stuff as Poe. And Poe asked, “You will marry me, won’t you?”, pulling Finn back up to his feet. 

Finn sighed. Sometimes, he wondered what would happen if he kept up with Poe’s game. If he did something impulsive, and honest, and baffling—like kiss Poe Dameron on a crisp, clear night. 

“It’s late, Poe. We should be heading back,” Finn said after a moment, giving Poe’s dark curls a quick rustle. 

And Poe nodded, his lips curled into a quieter version of his typical, loud smile. “Sure, sure.” They walked back to the base—Poe a few paces ahead and kicking rocks along their path, while Finn studied him intently from behind.

Finn was a fast learner, sure—but he just couldn’t figure out Poe Dameron. Not _really_.)

—

_Proposal #55 (and a half.)_

“Wait. You’re tellin’ me Snap’s not your real name?” Finn asked, several drinks in.

Black Squadron was holding a get-together in the hangar after a successful reconnaissance mission. A warm rain fell; the air smelled like wet pavement. The pilots, buoyant and boozy, eagerly welcomed Finn into their chipper circle, while Poe happily played bartender. (“It’s BeeBee’s special,” Poe said with a wink as he poured Finn a glass of something fizzy and orange. Finn sipped—it felt like shooting stars down his throat. “How’s that? Too strong?”

Finn shook his head, taking another (bolder) sip of the sparkling stars. He swallowed hard. “It’s… I like it. It’s good.” 

Poe’s eyes crinkled at him warmly. Finn felt the stars again, this time in the pit of his stomach.)

“Snap’s not your real name?” Jessika Pava exclaimed, her mouth a giant ‘O’. Her mock surprise melted into an impish smirk as Snap playfully pushed against her shoulder with his drink. 

“It’s my _nickname_,” Snap explained, shooting Jessika a teasing glare, “from an old mentor. My real name is—“

“Wait!” Poe yelped, his cheeks now a bright, rosy red. He snapped his fingers: “Let Finn guess.”

“Guess it? How am I supposed to guess,” Finn cried, watching Poe pour him another fizzy orange glass. “You’re just SNAP to me man, I can’t picture you with another name. It feels wrong!”  
  
Poe joined the group at their benches, wrapping his arm easily around Finn’s shoulder and passing him his drink: “I _believe_ in you, Finn. Use the FORCE,” he whispered dramatically, waggling his dark brows. 

Finn laughed. “Alright—” He tossed his drink back smoothly, to the group’s bubbly delight. He felt like an X-wing jumping into hyperspace. Lifting a hand to Snap, Finn declared sagely: “Your name is…” He gave a long pause, and then, his voice imposing: “Boba Fett!” 

The party’s laughter thundered throughout the hangar. Poe buried his belly laughs into Finn’s shoulder, and Finn leaned deeper into his hold. “Okay okay, wait, let me try that again. It’s the rain, bad signal," Finn lifted his hand again and shut his eyes in play concentration, adding, “I’ll get it this time.” 

Poe’s lips brushed along Finn’s ear (and there were stars again, _bursting_, all throughout his body), and he whispered, “Temmin,” giving Finn’s shoulder a light squeeze. 

“Temmin Wexley,” Finn announced with a flourish of his fingers. 

Snap’s groggy eyes bulged in genuine amazement: “How did you—!”

“Nooo, Poe CHEATED!” Jessika cried with a cackle, kicking her foot lazily toward Poe in protest.

“The Force works in mysterious ways, Jess,” Poe said. He stuck out his tongue and gave Finn’s shoulder another squeeze, firmer this time. His touch made Finn feel so secure, and bubbly, and light—and yes, the room was spinning, but it was spinning right into Poe’s embrace. 

“Temmin’s a nice name,” Finn thought aloud, laying his heavy head against Poe’s, “but I’ll stick with Snap.” The room’s spinning slowed, so he kept his head there; Poe’s cheek felt rough and warm against his temple. (The thought flashed across Finn’s mind like a shooting star: if he were to turn his head right now, he could probably lay a kiss along Poe’s jawline,

_impulsively—)_

“What do you call Poe?” Jessika asked, a sneaky smile blooming along her lips. 

Finn blinked. “I call Poe _Poe_. What else would I call him,” he said, feeling a sudden tension flicker up the pilot’s jaw.

“I can think of a couple things,” Snap mused through a sip of green ale. “Right Poe?” 

“Right, like… Boba Fett,” Poe said evenly, giving Finn’s side a light nudge. Finn grinned.

“Well, that’s my name, remember,” Snap chided. “I was thinking more like…” 

_“My hero,”_ Jessika cried, clutching her heart with a theatrical sigh. 

_“Beloved,”_ Snap bellowed back, garnering a snort from Jessika. 

“LOVERBOY,” she added eagerly. 

“How ‘bout 'hot stuff',” Kare Kun called from her end of the bench, twirling a bottle of purple wine.

Jessika cackled again: “Girl, pour me some of that.” 

And now Finn was regretting the three or four too many glasses of BeeBee’s special. That had to be the reason why his face was burning like this, why his heart was somersaulting over and _over_—

“You know what _team_,” Poe said suddenly, lifting his arm up from Finn’s shoulder and taking all the warmth with it, “I’m thinking it’s high time we wrapped up here. Party’s over.” He stood up from the bench with his arms sternly crossed—or at least, as sternly as he could come across while amply buzzed. 

The group’s booing echoed loudly throughout the room.

“Tomorrow’s an off-day, Poe,” Jessika pleaded. “We won’t go overboard. Snap promises, right Snap?” 

Snap waved a wobbly thumbs-up at Poe in reply.

Poe sighed. “Stay hydrated. Off-day or not, I better see Black Squadron at breakfast tomorrow morning.”

The team hollered with glee, topping off each other’s glasses with tangy ales and ciders,

while Poe offered his hand to Finn. He gestured out the hangar with a light bob of his head: “How’s some fresh air sound, hm.” 

Finn eyed the soft drizzle outside the hangar’s threshold. Taking Poe’s hand (calloused, secure, warm, light), Finn followed him out into the rain. 

They did their usual loop—out past the airfield and around the oblong lake, lingering at its shore to skip stones. The lake’s silver surface shivered at the rain’s touch. 

“It rained a lot back home,” Poe said, slicking back his damp curls. “My grandpa kept me inside all the time. I was sick a lot, as a kid. Always stuck looking out windows.”

Finn grinned; the rain tickled his nose and cheeks. “Did your grandpa have a nickname for you,” he asked, elbowing Poe gently.

Poe’s lashes glimmered with fine drops of rain. He nodded. “He called me ‘buddy’.” Poe stayed quiet for a moment, his eyes somewhere far, far away. Then, looking to Finn: “Hey, back at the party… I’m sorry about that, they were being—“

“It’s fine, Poe,” Finn said with a simple shrug. “Jessika’s always teasing. It’s what friends do, right?” It was a genuine question; Finn was still easing into a life outside the First Order. He couldn’t hide behind a cold, plastoid mask anymore. People could SEE him now. _Really_ see him, 

because they _wanted_ to. (And there was something comforting in that; like warm rain, at night.) 

“Would you—“ Poe started to ask, tucking curls behind his ears (and though the walk to the lake brought Finn’s buzz to a low hum, he could still feel the stars). Poe tried again, cheeks flushed: “Would you want a nickname.” 

Finn blinked; “Like Boba Fett,” he quipped lowly, but Poe took his hand again.

“No. Something just for you,” Poe replied. His thumb traced a cool circle in Finn’s palm.

(Stars, _bursting_, again and again.)

Finn took a shaky breath and found himself wishing for a mask again—because Poe was really, _really_ looking at him, and Finn couldn’t hide how small he suddenly felt. “You gave me that already,” Finn said softly. 

Poe’s brow arched. “Hm?”

“Finn’s just for me. I don’t want another name.” 

And Finn could see it—Poe Dameron was predictable: the way his dark eyes were glinting, the crooked skew to his smile. He was playing his game again. He was going to ask. 

But just as the words escaped his red lips, “Finn, will you marry—“

Finn beat Poe at his own game. 

He pressed his lips against Poe’s cheek, just barely skimming the corner of his mouth. The kiss was warm; Finn pictured it like a star at the galaxy’s edge—burning still, burning bright,

and burning out, as he gently pulled back to look Poe in the eyes again, light raindrops cooling his lips. 

Poe’s expression, framed by twists of dripping wet curls, was frozen in absolute shock—so much so that it reminded Finn of their first meeting, when he’d unmasked himself on the Finalizer. 

(Though Finn couldn’t possibly be made up from the same stuff as Poe, he took a secret pride in this stolen moment. This had to be how Poe Dameron felt all the time, keeping people on their toes. Being _impulsive_. Being _brave_.)

A shiver ran up Finn’s spine; he let out a shy laugh and ducked from Poe’s probing gaze. “Sorry. I didn’t… I’m sorry,” Finn said. “Too many drinks.” (Or not nearly enough.)

Poe wrapped an arm around his shoulders again, lightly tugging at the collar from Finn’s jacket to shield his neck from the rain. “Let’s head back. Doctor Kalonia would kill me if I let you catch a cold,” Poe joked. 

And they don’t talk about that night again—not about Finn’s impulsive kiss by the lake, 

nor the one Poe pressed firmly against Finn’s temple during their walk back to the base. 

—

_Proposals #75, 80_—Finn doesn’t really bother keeping count anymore.

The silly proposals-in-passing are so much harder to swallow, because they’re from Poe at his purest,

and Finn only falls harder then.

Poe asked him in the mess hall once, with his mouth full of crunchy toast. Crumbs spilled everywhere, and BeeBee-Ate whirred: _“I’m NOT cleaning that up.” _

Finn laughed. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“I’m hungry!” Poe cried defensively. (Finn snuck him his uneaten slices when Poe wasn’t looking, smothered in butter—just the way he liked it.) 

One day they were tucked away in Poe’s sleeping quarters on a hot afternoon, watching racing holos and snacking on dessert puffs. Finn pointed at the holo and said (mid-chew), “These guys can’t fly, Poe. You’d destroy them, no doubt.”

Poe was laid out on his stomach, watching the racing so closely that his nose nearly disrupted the holo’s image; he rolled a bit to his side and gave Finn a glance over his shoulder. “You know I’m going to marry you, right.” 

Finn rolled his eyes. “Sure, Poe. IF—“ he popped a dessert puff into his mouth, “you can beat me in a race.” 

“Are we talkin’ flying?” Poe asked, eyes ablaze. 

“Orbital sprint around D’Qar, followed by eating your way through a pile of these puffs.” Finn tossed Poe another piece—

—and Poe caught it in his mouth, cleanly. “Challenge _accepted_,” Poe replied, chewing through a smug smile. Then, as a racer zipped across the holo: “Ohhhh, Corellia’s got this in the bag.” 

Finn didn’t really watch the rest of the race—he watched Poe watching, which was far more entertaining. 

(Looking back, Finn wished he’d told Poe right then and there, in that stuffy room, with snacks strewn along the floor. He could’ve timed it with Corellia’s big win—

“I love you.” 

And maybe Poe would’ve responded with something baffling, and incomprehensible: loving Finn back. 

Of course, it couldn’t really turn out that way, 

but Finn didn’t mind pretending.)

—

Finn gave BeeBee-Ate’s head a loving scratch; “Be safe, BeeBee.”

_“I will miss FINN,”_ BeeBee-Ate chirped, giving his knee a tiny push.

Finn smiled. “I’ll miss you too.” 

Poe waited beside them, leaning against the ladder to Black One’s cockpit. “It’s just a supply run, buddy. Naboo n’ back again.”

“Well, knowing _you_…” Finn gave Poe a sheepish shrug. 

“Knowing _me_...?” Poe prodded, taking a step closer to Finn.

“Knowing you,” Finn started again, “everything will go PERFECTLY. Right, BeeBee?”

BeeBee-Ate rolled underneath the belly of Black One with a long, sardonic whistle.

Poe huffed: “Is it just me, or has he been pretty sassy lately? It feels like he’s been really sassy.”

“Wonder who he gets it from,” Finn mused dryly. Then: “You’ll call, won’t you.” 

Poe hugged Finn tightly. “Always.”

It was drizzling when Poe Dameron left that day. 

Finn reminded himself: “Naboo n’ back,”

and made his way to breakfast in the hangar. 

—

Poe didn’t call, so Finn called first.

“Nothing new to report,” he began, his fingers tapping anxiously along his chin. Finn’s eyes idly scanned along the ceiling of his sleeping quarters. “The General let me shadow her on another briefing, which was draining, but… _good_. I’m learning a lot. I’m grateful. It still doesn’t make any sense to me, trusting a Stormtrooper with—“ 

Finn caught himself, biting his lip. “You’re not here, but I know what you’d say if you were. I’m not one of them, not anymore. Maybe not ever. But… I’m not sure if I’m one of you, either.” He paused for a moment. “I think I want to be.” And then he nodded to himself, more certain: “I think I want to be.”

Finn pulled his knees to his chest, smiling ruefully into the holorecorder. “Talking’s hard. And you’re annoyingly good at it, so how ‘bout you give me a call once you get this.” He pressed his lips into a hard line. “Miss you, Poe.” 

Finn sent the holo and sat in bed for a long while, watching the pale light from D’Qar’s moons inch across the floor. 

—

Poe didn’t call, so Finn called the next night too, detailing the contents of another briefing with General Organa. He rambled about a dream he’d had the night before last: “You were in it, and we were skipping stones, y’know, like we do at the lake—but the stones you were throwing weren’t stones. They were _stars_. Well, most of them were; one was BeeBee-Ate. The dream got a little weird from there, I think there was something in the spice loaf at dinner—“

And after a while longer of recounting his day from end to end, Finn said, “It’s hard to not… _really_ be your co-pilot, Poe.” His brow furrowed. “I hate watching you leave. I want to help you. _Actually_ help you. I want to be by your side.”

_(He thought of Poe lying on his back in the hangar, all those months ago. His curly hair splayed. The glint in his eyes. “Marry me.”)_

Finn sighed. “Please call. Miss you. So much.” 

Finn sent the holo, and slept terribly. 

—

General Organa pulled Finn aside privately to break the news:

There’d been an ambush on Naboo. 

It was a trap that was months in the making, spearheaded by First Order sympathizers disguised as allies to the Resistance. Poe and BeeBee-Ate narrowly escaped the attack, but were in desperate need of rescue; Black One sustained too much damage to leave the planet, and according to BeeBee’s transmission, Poe wasn’t well enough to walk. 

Finn didn’t eat that day, and he didn’t sleep, 

and he recorded a call for Poe,

and he deleted it. 

—

Looking back,

Finn should have told him while watching racing holovids, 

or whispered it into his ear in the rain;

he should have said it while Poe gave him dancing lessons, 

or over a call—it’d be easier that way, not having to say it face to face. 

He should’ve said “I love you”. He should’ve been brave. 

_“Marry me,”_ Poe had asked, his hair furled out like petals. 

And Finn should have said _yes,_

Every. Single Time.

—

_Proposal #100_

“Finn?” Poe asked, his voice caught harshly in his throat.

Finn struggled to open his eyes; he was still staving off dreams from the night before—dreams where Poe was awake, and talking with his mouth full, and scratching BeeBee-Ate’s belly, 

but Poe really was awake. Finn blinked the exhaustion out from his eyes, and he looked at Poe: he was too thin and terribly pale, but _stars_, 

“You’re awake,” Finn breathed, rushing to Poe’s bedside in an instant. 

The deep, dark circles under Poe’s eyes broke Finn’s heart in two; he wished he could kiss them away and bring color back into Poe’s pallid cheeks. His black hair was furled out like petals again along his pillowcase. “I missed your calls,” Poe whispered, weakly reaching for Finn’s hand. He smiled, and it quickly filled Finn’s eyes with tears; he looked so much like a hero even now, hooked into tubes and wrapped up in bandages. 

“Poe, I—“ Finn hardly had the words (or maybe he had too many). “How’re you feeling,” he finally asked, cupping Poe’s hand gently with his own. 

Poe’s grin was crooked and toothy. “I slept GREAT. My leg hurts like hell though.” He cocked his head slightly to eye the bacta packs wrapped liberally about his left leg. “That doesn’t look good at all.” 

“Very, _very_ fractured,” Finn replied, giving Poe’s hand a small squeeze. 

“Good to know, good to know,” Poe said hazily, lying his head back into his pillow with a _thump_. Finn frowned; Poe’s face was lined with a kind of uneasiness he’d never seen the pilot wear before. It didn’t suit him; anxiety on Poe was like an ill-fitting mask. 

“You alright, Poe,” Finn asked softly. 

“Oh yeah, sure. I’m alright,” Poe said, his dark eyes to the ceiling. “Just thinking.” 

Finn nodded, and though it made his heart work double-time, he kept a firm hold on Poe’s hand, tracing light circles into his palm. 

“The mission wasn’t a _total_ flop, you know,” Poe said after a while, voice still hoarse. 

Finn could sense some kind of punchline (predictably) coming around the bend: “Why’s that.” 

Poe lifted his free hand—clearly straining to keep it steady—and pointed just over Finn’s shoulder. “‘Cuz I brought you those.” 

Finn looked, 

and there were flowers. 

Blueblossoms; bunches of them, with brilliant indigo petals and bright yellow centers, bursting from a cup that was clearly meant for caf.

“They reminded me of you,” Poe said. He gently pulled his hand from Finn’s grasp, adding, “Why don’t you go check ‘em out.”

Finn gave Poe a cautious glance, as if leaving his side could break him—but then he stood and crossed the room to go lift the cup with care.

Looking at the flowers felt like a waking dream; their blooms shone vividly in the dark shadows of the med bay, and what was even stranger still, 

_Poe’d_ been reminded of _Finn_ by something so impossibly _lovely_. 

Finn shook his head in disbelief. “I love them,“ he said, 

and Finn turned, finding Poe leaning up from his cot.

Poe cleared his throat: “I have something else for you, too.” In his hand he clutched something silver, suspended by a chain.

“Easy Poe,” Finn warned lightly, returning the cup of flowers to their shelf, “you shouldn’t push yourself—“

_“Finn,”_ Poe said, his voice breaking sharply, 

and only now could Finn make out the object in his hand:

a shining, silver ring—

“Will you marry me.”

(No matter how many times he’d heard it—be it the first, or the hundredth—Finn just couldn’t believe it.)

He eyed the ring, and Poe. He blinked, and blinked again: “You—” Finn searched Poe’s expression, the ill-fitting anxious mask, and it sucked all the air from his lungs: this was real.

This was _happening_.

Poe Dameron was looking at him—really _looking_ at him,

and he wasn’t playing a game.

Finn’s brow crumpled: “You actually mean it.”

Poe winced, and Finn’s heart broke again: “Finn, I’ve always meant it.” 

(Poe Dameron was baffling; _incomprehensible_.)

“That can’t be true,” Finn breathed.

“Of _course_ it’s true,” Poe nearly cried, his mouth twisted with pain. “Why would I lie to you, Finn.” 

Finn felt himself crumbling; “You wouldn’t lie, I know you wouldn’t, you’re—_good_, Poe. You’re _so_ good. You’re the best and bravest man I know, and I’m just,” Finn shook his head over and over—he wasn’t made from that stuff. “I’m _me_.”

_“Finn,”_ Poe whispered, and he pulled Finn in close, tenderly pressing a kiss along the bridge of his nose. Forehead to forehead, Poe looked to him, peering through his dark lashes and curls in a way that made Finn feel invisible to the rest of the world. Like he was Poe Dameron’s secret. “I thought I was never going to see you again, Finn; I thought I was going to _die_ out there, without saying _goodbye_, without..."

Poe squeezed his eyes shut. 

"I know you think I’m _brave_,” he said, slow and measured, as if the words were too heavy to carry, “and _good_,” the words were heavier still; “but I’m not, Finn. I swear I’m not. If I were really all that brave,”

Poe brushed his thumb along Finn’s cheek,

“I wouldn’t have let a day pass without you knowing _exactly_ how much I love you. How much I _mean_ it. God, I mean it.” Poe’s eyes shone with tears. “I love you so much.” 

And Finn knew it. It took all this time, and one hundred _"will-you's"_ from Poe, 

but he _knew_.

(It used to be scary, how Poe could see Finn. _Really_ see him, and still want him.

Finn wasn’t scared anymore.

Finn reminded Poe of _flowers_.

And Finn pictured himself how Poe might: good, and bright, and funny, and _brave_—)

He kissed Poe’s lips (and stars were _bursting_, again and again). “I love you, too.” 

After a few breathless moments, Poe’s crooked, toothy smile slowly _bloomed_ in reply, and seeing it made Finn realize how much he’d desperately missed that smile, so he kissed Poe—_impulsively_—again. 

“So… is that a yes,” Poe asked softly, presenting the ring on its chain. 

And Finn replied,

_(Proposal #1):_

“Only if you’ll marry _me_.”

And Poe really, _really_ did.


End file.
